


Wind.

by calliope (sailorvenusgold)



Series: Mythos. [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorvenusgold/pseuds/calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a scholar, Yixing knows about hubris. However, as the king’s son, he understands that he is the most subject to its effects and destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by several Greek myths, namely Iphigenia and Dionysus and Ariadne, with god!Yifan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood mentions

Yixing watches the rain spit droplets on his bedroom floor. The clouds are as tumultuous as the battlefield a short distance away from the city walls; it’s as if the gods above and around are waging their own war against each other, clouds dancing with the winds, lightening flashing like blood veins.

War broke out when the invaders landed on their shores, marching on the sands to acquire lands for their new ruler who had an alleged claim to this kingdom by some distant ancestor. After that, the war waged on, continuing for three years.

He had been granted permission to leave the city walls and help tend to the fallen soldiers with the senior healer; however, this privilege had opened his eyes to the absolute destruction wreaked by both belligerents. It not only affected the lands once prized for it’s fertility but released fear within homes, provoked families to wonder if their children would return to them or remain on the fields, and the city's wealth was being depleted. War wracks resources and no one was willing to ally themselves to a kingdom quickly becoming a lost cause. Only his mother’s family had pledged their support, although it was probably at their daughter’s plea to spare her sons a savage and early death.

Thunder resounds in the room, shaking his bones, yet Yixing daren’t close the shutters. This is the time he feels closest to Wu Fan, the lord of the skies, and he need this to ensure his prayer reaches his god’s ears. He feels the tiles dig into his knees as he bows his head towards the window.

Yixing prays like the dutiful prince and citizen when he asks for victory, for the invaders to be driven out, and for the return to normality. After, he prays for the personal. He asks for his father’s safety, for his mother to stop worrying, for Luhan, his brother, to come back to him.

It is terribly presumptuous of him to keep all his prayers for one god, but ever since his childhood, Lord Wu Fan had always been his favourite amongst the pantheon. For one, he was the patron of the kingdom which lay by his beloved Dragon Mount. On it stood the god’s highest temple. He remembered his first visit to the Dragon Mount, basking in the majesty of the interior, running around the dragon’s eggs and seeing the grey visage of Lord Wu Fan’s statue. To others, it had been intimidating and even his parents could not stand to look at it for too long. However, he thought that the impressive height was meant to protect, the large hands meant to comfort and that the sharp eyes were not meant to invoke terror, but to see into a person's soul.

The priests often tell him that the god favours him too. Yixing had been born on a clear day among autumnal storms, and that the labour was painless, clear signs that the babe had been chosen by Lord Wu Fan and that he had to be dedicated to him on the Dragon’s Mount.

His mother had screamed and cried and refused. She had stated that Yixing should not go to Lord Wu Fan, that through her, he was descended from Lord Suho and he was not for the air and sky. Luhan had told him all this once – when they were younger and hiding from her maids underneath her bed covers – and added that she fought against the priests because she would not let Yixing go to anyone else but her. Luhan was the firstborn prince and under the constant scrutiny and tutelage of the king. Yixing was hers and hers alone.

When he was old enough to go out alone, his mother had banned him from visiting the Dragon Mount.

But that did not stop Yixing from sneaking to Lord Wu Fan’s other temple in the city square to see his statue. Although it was newer, it had the quality of being less impressive, missing the ancient energy of the Dragon Mount. Nevertheless, it still provided him with a way of seeing the god and besides, climbing the Dragon Mount up and down several times a week would be troublesome and keeping it a secret from his mother would warrant a terrifying punishment.

Lightening flashes across his face with partnering thunder following in his ears. Yixing likes to think that this means that Wu Fan has listened to and affirmed his prayers. He tries not to let himself think that the god will allow the war to end tomorrow, that would be unrealistic, but he finds that his underlying worries are removed from his mind and when he sleeps, he is no longer plagued by the images of the battlefield.

 

 

 

The news of victory reaches the queen’s ears before the messenger does - the gossip among her attendants is unavoidable. Yixing watches the excitable soldier chat to his mother on the raised dais, and he can see that she is relieved at the confirmation. When the messenger leaves, giddy to get home for the first time in three years, his mother turns to him and tells him to help her prepare the sacrifices for the gods. They have won.

In the afternoon, when the sun is high in the sky, Yixing hears that the king and crown prince have arrived and he rushes down to the courtyard where he knows Luhan waits for him.

He collides with Luhan in his run to embrace him, and his brother’s armour bruises him and digs into his bones, but Yixing doesn’t care, not when his brother is finally here with him. Luhan laughs, and he knows Luhan hasn’t laughed in a long while and he treasures it when he feels his brother’s arms clasp around him.

“You shouldn’t do that Xing,” Luhan whispers conspiratorially, “You know it scares Minseok.”

Yixing giggles when he sees his brother’s guard flush scarlet and squirm at the statement.

“Stop saying it scares me,” Minseok protests. Luhan laughs again and places an arm around his guard’s shoulder and pulls him to his side, gesturing to Yixing to take them to the feast.

When they enter the great hall, Yixing sees the blue and gold of the city draped across the walls, tables, seats. Food fills the tables, an overflowing sea of meats, fish, fresh fruits, and breads with an assortment of wines, sure to satisfy anyone’s appetite. However, the most astounding thing is the crimson carpet running from the entrance to the raised dais. It is a stark sight, like blood slicing through the water, and it unnerves everyone in the room. Luhan and Minseok look confused and the servants refuse to look at it; it is understandable – red is reserved for the gods.

Luhan becomes outraged, and demands an answer from Yixing, who hadn’t had a role in the preparations for the hall. Their mother appears at the commotion, looking grave, almost ill.

“The carpet was your father’s idea.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “to commemorate his victory.”

Everyone is stunned. The queen uses this silence as an opportunity to tell the boys to get ready for the feast, the latter agreeing in silence. The feast, a celebration of their victory over the foreign invaders, is now marred by what Yixing can only call sacrilege.

 

 

 

Yixing sits on the raised dais with his mother and Luhan, listening to him recount the tale of their victory. The storm the night before had poured heavy and thick on the battlefield, forcing both sides to retreat to their bases. Their forces had to take shelter under the city walls whilst the enemy had to go back towards the bay, but the rain had not let up at all that night. However, this had come to the advantage of their men as the rains had caused the rivers to swell and flood the enemy camps; the latter had lost their provisions and some of their soldiers in the struggle, prompting their surrender.

“It was the work of the gods, I tell you,” Luhan says, winking over his wine cup. Yixing’s breath catches in his throat – his prayer to Lord Wu Fan must have worked.

“At least someone respects the gods in this family,” his mother mumbles as she takes a sip of her own wine.

“Perhaps it is not for father,” Luhan offers, “he might want to show the role of the gods in our victory.”

Yixing wants to believe Luhan, but he can’t help but side with his mother. As a daughter of Lord Suho, she had instilled her piety in both of her boys, but the eldest was prone to defending his father’s shortcomings.

The herald signals for silence and announces the king’s arrival, turning all eyes towards the entrance of the hall. His father stands there, resplendent in his armour, clearly basking in the attention of the various nobility.

He sees his mother’s back straighten and fingers tighten around the arms of her chair as the king walks towards the dais, on the red carpet reserved for the gods. She blinks every time he takes a step on immortal red, as if every footstep physically pained her. When he reaches the dais, he stretches out his hand towards her and addresses her.

“Is my queen not happy with out victory?”

Everyone could see, feel, the queen’s fury as she forced a smile and uttered false, sweet words to her husband. When he takes her hand, she makes sure to tiptoe around the red silks, knowing her place.

“Will you not offer the sacrifices for your victory?” asks his mother.

“No, there is no need,” dismisses the king. His mother purses her lips as he continues. “We can only accredit our victory to us, so serve all the meat of the calves. There was no need for you to go to all that trouble.” He smiles as if he has done the entire kingdom a service.

The queen stares at him, wearing the mask of indifference, before ordering her attendants to follow the commands of the king.

Hushed conversation fills the hall and Yixing sees his mother slip out in the midst of commotion.

He looks to his left, across their parents’ chairs, seeing Luhan absentmindedly munching on a grape. Yixing knows he doesn’t approve of their father’s actions and that he feels the same sense of foreboding that grows in his stomach.

 

 

 

Rain hasn’t visited their kingdom in two months and famine has been left in its stead– Yixing knows this is the work of the gods above and around.

The lack of food has weakened many of the kingdom’s citizens; the senior healer needs to take on a larger amount of patients than she can handle. Yixing had been hastily promoted to a practicing healer rather than one in training so the work could be spread more equally among them.

Still, dissent festers within the city walls and crime is now a common occurrence. The cases that the queen is audience to have increased by tenfold since the last rains as food has become scarce amongst the citizens and the crimes have increased in severity.

His father has different worries, the largest of which are rumours of a coup instating the crown prince as king. Yixing knows that Luhan would never think of deposing his father, but support for his brother has strengthened amongst the palace guards and the citizens and he knows that a coup against the king, in this moment, would not be unsuccessful.

However it is this fear that has finally prompted action from the king.

“Tomorrow night, we will visit the oracle,” his father announces over their small dinner, “to solve our problem.” Yixing’s mother, who has remained coldly passive towards her husband looks at him in surprise.

“I thought you were immune to the decisions of the gods,” her sharp tongue snaps. The king narrows his eyes at her but does little else with the guards still in the room. Doing anything more would upset the already volatile dynamics of the palace.

 

 

 

Unlike the Dragon Mount, the oracle’s dwelling place does not lie on a hill outside the city walls but within, a cosmopolitan place by the East Gates manned by several female and male devotees bedecked in translucent silks and thin gold chains, on their necks, arms, crowns, and waists.

Baekhyun, the oracle of the Lord of Light, sits on a tripod in the centre of the temple underneath the open air, the moon and the stars twinkling off his own golden garb. His eyes are closed when they enter, the picture of serenity.

“The warrior prince and the sea maid,” the oracle says when they enter. His eyes have still not opened. “The last time you visited me, you were asking about the fates of your future children. We have them here today - the hero and the lover.” The oracle’s head turns to look at Yixing and Luhan this time, opening his eyes. Yixing is startled. He had been expecting the eyes to be silver or some other odd colour, but all he can see are the whites of his eyes. He glances at Luhan, who only looks curious.

“We are here to discuss the matter of the rains Baekhyun,” his father grits out. The oracle smirks.

“Your quarrel is not with me. It is the three princes of the sky who chose to side with you during your affairs."

Lord Chen, Lord Sehun, and Lord Wu Fan. Yixing didn’t think they had that much divine support.

“Just tell me what I need to do!” snaps the king. Baekhyun’s grin stretches and Yixing would be lying if he says he did not feel terrified of the oracle; he looks almost feral.

“You must sacrifice the youngest calf of the mightiest bull to Lord Wu Fan.” The oracle’s eyes snap shut and he resumes his previous position on the tripod.

“That seems simple enough,” the king states, but Baekhyun’s business with him is finished and he offers no response to the king.

But everyone knows that the advice of an oracle is never simple nor clear.

 

 

 

A date is set for the sacrifice, with the whole city invited, and a calf elected. It is the youngest calf of the most powerful fighting bull found in the city, difficult to procure as the farmer had been unwilling to let it go so easily, having planned to rear it in his father’s footsteps. It was only with the offer of gold and a title that the farmer relinquished ownership of the calf to the crown.

It’s a day like any other since the rains have stopped, sunny but not scorching, and the citizens are sick of it. However, the hope of the return of the rains is enough to draw those still healthy enough to Lord Wu Fan’s temple by the city square. There at the altar is the young calf, strapped down and braying, while his father stands at one side, various knives laid out on a table next to him.

Yixing credits the publicity of the affair to his father’s thirst for glory. When the rains come back, he would be lauded a hero, and in addition, it would quell any thoughts of rebellion under Luhan’s name.

The brothers watch from the sides as their father slit the crying calf’s throat with a dagger, then guts the animal with a longer knife, pulling out the heart then chucking it into the hearth of the temple. He then slices off the thighs which he also tosses into the fire and steps aside to leave the priests to the prayers.

The citizens cheer, but it is not as raucous as his father would want and he knows that their praise is not for him.

 

 

 

A month has passed and it still hasn’t rained. The people grow more restless and the king more paranoid. He had planned another sacrifice, with the same grandeur, finding the youngest calf of the strongest bull. She was almost fully grown and the cowherd needed convincing it was for the good of the kingdom. This too had failed, and now the king was sacrificing the youngest of the biggest. To prevent the humiliation of the last two, this was carried out in the quiet of the Dragon Mount.

The king does not perform the sacrifice with the same flourish and grace as the first two, Yixing notes as the blood splattering on his fine robes. His frustration is clear to the few with him. It has been three months and the grounds are still parched, with no clouds in sight and the blame is put squarely on him.

His father leaves immediately, but his mother wants Luhan and Yixing to remain, to pray and show their devotion to the god who had readily helped them.

Luhan takes his turn in front of Wu Fan’s statue first and Yixing goes to help a tall, skinny attendant tend to the hearth to keep it alight. The attendant surprises him when he faces him and quirks his lips in a snappy smile, but they revert to his previous frown when he turns back to his work.

Yixing is then called by Luhan and he finds himself in the large figure of Lord Wu Fan. He has not seen it since his childhood and the effect of the vision is immediate, causing him to choke on his breath and tears to well in his eyes.

He prostrates on the floor, showing the utmost respect to the god and he is surprised when the words come so easily to him despite his tears. He grabs the knees of the seated statue and rubs his cheek against the stone folds of Lord Wu Fan’s robes, supplicating to the god.

“My lord,” he begins. He is shaking and he wants to laugh, he doesn’t know what has come over him. “I would never think to beg you. My words are not worthy to be heard by your ears.”

He looks up to those eyes and he feels as if Lord Wu Fan can see him.

“But my people are suffering. Your quarrel is not with the people, it is with my father; do not take your wrath out on them. If you will – you may take it out on me.

“My father – he is still the king and although he is proud and stubborn, it makes him steadfast. Luhan is the heir, and my beloved brother also – he will be a good king. But I am just a second son and I am no warrior – what need will the kingdom have of me?”

Yixing releases the statue’s knees and pulls back, cathartic tears running down his face. He peers around to see if anyone has seen him, only finding the hearth’s attendant from earlier, still tending to the fire.

 

 

 

A week later, Baekhyun is paid another visit by the king and his family, and he greets them with a smile, baring his teeth.

“You have not done as I said,” the oracle states.

His father argues back, “I have! I have sacrificed the youngest of the most powerful, the strongest, the bigge-”

“You know better than anyone,” the oracle turns his attention away from the king to Yixing, “that I am not talking about cattle.” Coldness creeps down Yixing’s neck and settles down his spine as Baekhyun fixes white on him and then, something drops.

“You would not dare!” the cry is from his mother this time, “he is a prince – on both sides!”

“The affairs of mortals are of no concern to the gods.”

“He is a descendant of Lord Suho!”

“Irrelevant.”

“Take me instead then,” Luhan says, “if our gods-blood is not of any import, then neither is the prince you take.” Yixing thinks that in the face of death, his brother has never looked more like a king.

The oracle scrutinises the crown prince and blinks. “Lord Wu Fan wants him not you. Besides – he offered.”

Yixing panics and wracks his head for when he could have possibly offered himself as a sacrifice to Lord Wu Fan.

The night on the Dragon Mount.

“But-” he starts and the oracle rounds on him.

“You cannot say you didn’t mean a word of what was said that night. Lord Wu Fan would be so disappointed.” The grin returns to Baekhhun’s face and Yixing’s breath catches in his throat. He sees his mother reach her hand out for him but he feels his father’s first, clamping down on his shoulder. A gesture which should be comforting is now cold and empty.

“Would you do it?” he asks. He cannot even look Yixing in the eyes. From the corner, he can see his mother being restrained by the guards, cursing and cussing at the king. Yixing doesn’t know what compels him to do so when he nods.


	2. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of murder

His father spins him around to face him and this time, their eyes meet. Yixing can see his father searching for any hint of hesitance or bluff, but he seems content with what he says.

“You are a brave lad,” he sighs. In the background, his mother wails in Luhan’s arms and Yixing imagines this is similar to what it was like twenty years ago after he was born.

“You can’t just let your son leave like this!” his mother cries.

“He will get a story in the very least – the boy who saved a city,” his father growls.

“That is what _you_ want! He is not you!” the queen snaps back. The king glares at her and orders Minseok and another guard to escort her back to the palace. Yixing watches as she fights and fights against the stronger soldiers; he thinks she does not look like the queen she was raised to be but the goddess she always was and a sob threatens to erupt from his throat. Yixing, through his own deed, has taken away everything she had ever since she married his earthy father. Her howls can still be heard when they are a distance from the oracle’s temple, more a wolf than a queen, and even the oracle looks at her in pity.

“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?” his father asks again.

“Y-yes,” Yixing chokes out. The stammer embarrasses him, but the oracle pays it no heed.

“Good.” Baekhyun returns his attention back to the king. “Return him to me on the new moon. We will take care of the rest from there. Lord Wu Fan does not want to be kept waiting.” The severity melts away from his face when he takes note of Yixing and Luhan again. “This is the last time I will see the hero and the lover as you both are. I wish you well!"

Yixing doesn’t let himself worry about the oracle’s cryptic words too much – he is only a week away from death.

 

 

 

In the morning, he finds out that the king has forbidden his queen from seeing their son in fear of attempts of an abduction or escape attempt. She is effectively barred in her rooms with her maids and attendants, left to weave or sew. With a quiet rebellion, she sews Yixing’s robes for his leaving; he is sure that the cloth is interwoven with her tears. The servants pity their queen and allow Yixing to enter her rooms without regard for the king’s decree. Even Minseok, who so often stuck by the king’s word, had allowed him entry.

She grasps him close to her and he feels dampness seep into his hair. There is also wetness running down his face from his own tears, streaming from his cheeks onto her neck. When she feels this, she lets out mournful cry, as if her son has already left her. It is a tragic scene for the attendants with her, and ever the loyal servants, they unwittingly follow her lead, weeping for their queen and prince.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says, cupping his face. There is a sharp throbbing in his throat and he can barely see through his tear-stained eyes; it comes as a surprise to Yixing when he finds the strength to reply.

“I have to. The duty of a prince lies with his people,” he sniffs. She offers a bleary smile, sobs threatening to spill out.

“I have taught you too well,” she replies, pinching his nose, “but it is unfair that – that Lord Wu Fan will have you still. I think now that I should have been less selfish at that time, that if I gave you up as a babe, I would have spared myself this suffering. Yet that is a selfish thought.” Yixing watches her bite her lip, a habit he knows he picked up from her. “I should strive to be more like you,” are the last words she says to him, wiping away his tears with her sleeve, before Minseok comes to usher him out.

 

 

 

A week passes quicker than Yixing would like, the seed of anxiety flourishing into a weedy garden in his stomach as the days go by, watered by the darkening of the moon. It is now the day of his departure, and the palace is abuzz with activity, as if they were not preparing for his leaving, but instead for a celebration.

The king has ordered the servants to make Yixing presentable to the god, and so he finds himself disposed in a marble bath, being scrubbed red and raw with a dozen palace attendants swinging between his bathing room and bedroom all chatting with each other. The girl who is tasked to dry him off does so gently, careful to not irritate the sensitive skin underneath his arms and legs and he smiles at her in appreciation. She flushes and casts her eyes away from the young prince, but returns his smile with a shy one of her own. An older woman who he recognises as his mother’s chief serving lady, orders the majority of the other servants to clear the bathing room while escorting him to his chambers. There, he finds two other maidservants of his mother, who delicately dress him in white robes and other finery, the same colour as those worn by Lord Wu Fan’s priests. The elder woman retrieves a necklace from the folds of her skirts and Yixing recognises the dainty pink gem as his mother’s rose quartz pendant.

“She regrets that she cannot be here with you,” she says as she slips it around Yixing’s neck, “so she leaves you with a parting gift.”

“Tell her I am eternally grateful. I will remember her in my last moments,” he replies, gnawing on his bottom lip. His breathing quickens in order to will back the tears.

A tentative knock sounds at his door before revealing Luhan. He looks paler, frailer even as he gives Yixing a shaky smile.

“Come, father is waiting for us.” When Yixing walks to his brother, Luhan makes a grab for his hand and it is only then when he can feel how much his brother is shaking, so much so that he can barely link their fingers together. “This will be the last time we’ll be able to do this,” he whispers, beginning to swing their arms together. Yixing can see tears brimming around his lower lashes.

“Don’t cry,” Yixing utters, “you look so ugly when you cry.”

Luhan swats at him before laughing and pulling him close. It doesn’t work, Yixing can still feel the tears running down his brother’s face. He can’t stop his own tears staining the red of Luhan’s robes.

When they regain some of their composure, they go to meet the king, waiting outside by the palace gates.

The trek to the East Gates had never usually been this long, but with every step Yixing takes, he feels the throbbing in his chest get more and more painful. His walk is met by the citizens, who peer out their windows and filter through the streets to see their prince on the way to give his life for them. He sees people he does not know weep for him, look at him in pity, cry out their blessings.

_They will be happy in a couple of days_ , Yixing thinks, _they should not waste their tears yet_.

 

 

 

When they approach the temple of the Lord of Light, Luhan releases his hand. He had been holding it since their departure from the palace. The king nods towards the temple to signal Yixing to walk with him.

The oracle greets them in his usual needling manner with an abrasive sneer directed to the king, but by his tripod stands a tall figure in a dark green cloak, face hidden in the folds. There is something unsettling about the stranger, but Yixing cannot pinpoint what it is. A shiver runs down his body – is this the one who will end his life?

Baekhyun stands up and moves towards Yixing, who takes a step back.

“Calm down young one,” he hushes. He begins to extract the jewels set in his hair and ears. Baekhyun’s fingers itch over his mother’s necklace, but his hands drop to their sides. “Wu Fan is eager to see you, so we must act in haste.” He takes a cloak from one of his male attendants, affixing it around Yixing’s neck.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking him?” his father demands.

“Lord Wu Fan does not want a drop of this valiant boy’s blood spilled. He will be taken to the cave on the Dragon Mount.”

Yixing’s mind runs raucous – will he be buried alive? Starve? Be made to drop to his death? He does not know if any of these are preferable to the blade.

The oracle grabs his wrist to focus his attention.

“Follow _him_ ,” he nods to the cloaked figure, “to the Dragon Mount.”

 

 

 

Yixing’s eyes finds it hard to adjust from the brilliant temple to the shrouded night. Despite the stranger’s tall stature, he is difficult to make out in the dark, and Yixing has to keep his arms in front of him to prevent himself from crashing into him. He feels out broad shoulders and he squeaks. The cloaked man only chuckles and grabs his hand to guide him. Yixing is thankful for the shadowy setting – he would not want to let the stranger see the blush on his face.

The stranger’s hand is warm and envelops his own, a stark contrast to the post-dusk winds which get stronger and stronger the higher they walk up the Dragon Mount. Yixing’s eyes are watering, blurring his already afflicted vision and so all his trust is put into this mysterious man.

They finally reach the edge of the cave, the ground flatter and steadier and easier for Yixing to move on. His eyes are better adjusted and he can just about make it out. The cave is shallow with no tunnel, as if dug out, and is narrower at the mouth, allowing Yixing some shelter from the forces.

Rustling sounds as the man turns around to return down.

“Will you be alright to make it?” Yixing asks cautiously. The man exhales air from his nose. It is not mean or condescending – more amused.

“I can manage.” This is the first time he has heard his voice, and it is deep, but scratchy, most likely from the disuse. He takes his leave, his footsteps softly waning, and Yixing is left alone.

There are no signs of the man making his return and Yixing decides his death is to be by hunger. He sits down, hands feeling downy fur; a pelt has been left for him.

Yixing has never once allowed himself to think that the gods were unkind – their actions were above the law of earthly mortals. But as he settles down and wraps himself with the fur, he thinks that the gods have bestowed on him a cruel comfort.

 

 

 

When he awakens, the sun is already perched high amongst the clouds.

Clouds. There have not been any clouds near the city in three months. Yixing pinches himself and takes the pain to mean that he is neither dreaming nor dead. It is not rain, but right now it is enough.

Another object also comes into his notice – a green, cloth package by the mouth of the cave.

_A knife? Perhaps Lord Wu Fan has changed his mind about my blood,_ Yixing wonders.

He approaches it as a mouse would, wary and vigilant. When he uncovers the green fabric, he finds not murderous metal, but food – some bread and a bunch of grapes, enough to quash his hunger for a few hours. He frowns. Is this meant for him? Or had someone left it, feeling pity for the cursed plaything of the gods above and around?

Yixing pushes it away, enough so it is out of sight, and settles himself in a corner of the cave, willing himself to sleep.

 

 

 

It is barely an hour later when he is disturbed, a shadow casting over the cavern. He looks up into the cutting eyes of what looks like a sour-spirited man frowning at him.

“You haven’t eaten what I left for you?” The man’s voice is familiar – the same deep throatiness of the cloaked guide.

“Am I not to die for Lord Wu Fan? Leave me alone,” Yixing snaps. His companion’s thick brows shoot up in surprise – was he expecting him to be grateful?

 “You are not wanted dead. Now eat up,” he berates with an almost protective annoyance. “Lord Wu Fan cannot have you starved.”

Before the man leaves, he thrusts another package in Yixing’s hands. The latter glares at him as he traverses back down to flatter ground, but his mood melts away when he opens the parcel and finds a bundle of cherries – his favourite – tied at the stems with some string, along with some more bread and cuts of meat wrapped neatly in hydrangea leaves.

He takes his time nibbling on both sets of food, looking for something else to do to occupy his time.

 

 

 

 

This time, just before dusk, Yixing sees the man coming. The dimness impairs his vision slightly, but he sees the same green cloak from last night draped around broad shoulders, along with long legs and a handsome face. His gait is sure, secure, and proud but he keeps his eyes cast low even as he approaches the cave. He places the parcel in Yixing’s lap before once again taking his leave, pulling his green hood over his head.

 

 

 

It is midday afternoon on the next day when he sees the man he has dubbed Green-Cloak taking the trek up to his ledge. His eyes are downcast again, until he sees Yixing. Green-Cloak’s eyebrows show surprise, but then his face fluidly morphs into a smirk when he sees the expectant look on the prince’s face.

“Hungry?” he asks, quirking a brow. Yixing only nods and swipes the food from the other’s outstretched hand before tucking in. He frowns when he notices Green-Cloak’s tall figure still blocking his vision and pouts when he drops down next to him. The other doesn’t seem to notice his irritation.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Me? You’ll know soon enough – and I’m meant to look after you.”

Yixing scoffs. “Are you an agent of Lord Wu Fan?” This only widens his company’s smug smile.

“You could say that.”

Yixing returns his attention to the city in the shade of the Dragon Mount, the city once his home. The Dragon Mount isn’t very tall, more a high hill than a proper mountain, but from his ledge he can see everything. He can see the tall, white walls of the kingdom surrounding the citizens, the stone dragons sitting sentry on the East and South gates, the glittering of sapphire seas spilt in the far south and the palace once his home. He thinks of Luhan, how he wouldn’t see his brother become king; of his mother, whom he had not seen in his last moments within the city gates; and his father, who had given him away so easily to the sky.

He tears his eyes away from the city and returns his focus back on his companion, only to be startled by the man’s heavy stare. The other seems to notice his surprise and timidly turns away, sputtering out coughs in embarrassment. Yixing thinks it is a fresh sight from the man who so often looked at him in amusement.

 “Do you miss it there?” Green-Cloak isn’t looking at him, instead setting his steely gaze on the place below him. His question comes as a surprise to Yixing – this is the man who took him away from his home.

“Of course. It is the only place I’d ever known – you would miss something if you were torn away from its routine and regularity,” Yixing answers. Green-Cloak frowns. He still doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You came of your own accord.”

His reply startles Yixing. He repeats the words he had spoken to his mother just a week back, “The duty of a prince lies with his people.”

A smile, a genuine one, makes its way onto Green-Cloak’s lips and he turns to face him

“You sound like the heroes they tell stories of,” he winks.

“I don’t think they’ll tell stories about me,” Yixing mumbles.

“Do they ever expect stories to be told about them?”

 

 

 

Green-Cloak’s deliveries continue until the morning of Yixing’s fourth day in solitude. The latter feels fingers prodding through his fur pelt, spurring him from sleep.

“Wake _up,_ Yixing,” a voice hisses. Sleep is still heavy on his eyelids but he can see Green-Cloak kneeling in front of him. The other drags him up from under his arms and steadies with his hands.

“Where are we going?” he asks as the other fastens a cloak around his neck.

“To the temple – today you are going to Lord Wu Fan.”

This wakes Yixing up. He straightens up and looks at Green-Cloak.

“I will meet him?” The prospect of meeting a god frightens him so, _so_ much – will he die when he sees him? Will his life end under his glorious and radiant presence? Yixing never likes going into things without knowing what’s meant to happen, and so far that is all that he has experienced since he was handed over to this man by the oracle.

“Officially. Now come along. He doesn’t want to be kept waiting,” Green-Cloak says, taking his hand and dragging him out of the cave to walk along the winding path of the hill. It is barely past sunrise, the rosy tendrils of dawn still clinging to the clouds, and when Yixing glances back to the city, he can see the first set of soldiers doing the morning laps near the walls. He likes to think Luhan is with them, chatting to Minseok as they pace around the city, going back to the normality which was only found before the war. He hopes he doesn’t worry about him too much.

 

 

 

The Dragon Mount is not as large as the temple in the city square, only big enough to fill the area of the apex of the hill, but it is still impressive and imposing with an archaic power that cannot be found anywhere else. Yixing remembers his tutor telling him that the Dragon Mount had been there before the city and was older than most other temples dedicated to Lord Wu Fan and the other gods.

They are greeted by the seated statue of Lord Wu Fan that Yixing loves so much, in front of the entrance to the main building. Green-Cloak guides him around the figure to the entrance and Yixing is surprised to find the temple devoid of priests and other servants, only finding the hearth-fire attendant from his last visit.

“Have you prepared his rooms?” Green-Cloak asks. The attendants blinks and at first Yixing isn’t sure if he is going to answer, but he nods and gestures to the back.

“Yes, they’re ready.”

“Good. We left in haste – I saw the king’s men ready to scout the hills,” he turns to Yixing, “I figure you’d want to get washed and changed. There are some new robes waiting in the room for you. Sehun, could you take him there?”

_Sehun_? Yixing had never met anyone with the same name as the god.

He lets himself forget the thought as he allows Sehun to take him into one of the small chambers in the back, opening the door to reveal a well-lit, clean room with a chair in the corner and a bed pushed against one of the walls, with periwinkle garments laid out on it.

“The door on the far left leads to the baths,” Sehun says, giving him the same tight-lipped smile he had done on that night, before leaving to return to the main hall.

Yixing grasps the cord of his mother’s pendant – _his_ now – and lifts it over his neck, winding it up and carefully setting it on top of the clean purple sheets, before carrying the bundle to the baths.

When he opens the doors, he is greeted with a round pool underneath the open sky. He sets the clothes by the bath and peels the ceremonial white robes – now mottled with mud and grass stains – off his body. He dips a toe in the water and is pleasantly surprised to find it is warm and sinks in on the lower ledge, appreciating the first bath in five days. The water is scented with sweet almond oil, not irritating but soothing and delicate. One of the small towels is grabbed and Yixing uses it to scrub off the effects of the past four days, scouring at his supple skin until he is satisfied that he is clean enough.

After he pats himself dry with another towel and puts on his clothes, he returns to the room and relaxes onto the bed. He lets his eyelids fall and allows himself to doze off as compensation for his early wakeup call.

 

 

 

Yixing finds that he sleeps through most of the sun when he awakens and finds it in the west. He also finds that he has been tucked underneath the coverlet and that he has been entertaining Green-Cloak in his sleep. The man is seated on the chair by the wall perpendicular to him, leaning forward in amusement with a smirk settled on his face. His cocky posture irritates Yixing.

“It’s quite presumptuous of you to invite yourself into someone’s room don’t you think?” he snaps. The other’s eyes twinkle as his smile grows wider.

“Well, the room – along with the rest of the temple – belongs to me, so I can do what I want.” He leans back into the chair as if to make his point.

“What?” Yixing blinks, disconcerted.

“Don’t you recognise me?” The man’s words bring about a prickling across his neck and arouses the gooseflesh on his arms. “Am I not your favourite?”

Yixing stares at the man seated. His hair is more mussed – boyish looking, his limbs longer and less muscled, his face leaner and longer than on the statues he has seen, but Yixing has no doubt that the figure in front of him is Lord Wu Fan.

He leaps out of bed and drops on his knees in front of Lord Wu Fan, clutching and clinging to his legs, supplicating for his sins. He thinks of his catty words, his heedless behaviour, his informality and lack of _respect_ towards the god; he is ashamed.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers, feeling hot, embarrassed tears pool in his ducts. He doesn’t dare look at Lord Wu Fan – he doesn’t deserve to look at his handsome face.

Yixing feels long fingers approach his head and he is certain of his forthcoming end, but is stunned when they comb through his hair. The hands end their actions, only to come at his jaw to hold him steady as the god places tender kisses along his forehead.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lord Wu Fan murmurs in his hair. He takes Yixing’s wrists and stands up, pulling the prince with him. “Come, you haven’t eaten all day. I don’t want Sehun to accuse me of being an ungracious host.”

Yixing allows Lord Wu Fan to place his small hand on the god’s arm and take him through to the dining area. There, they find Sehun already seated, eating his fill. Yixing figures that Sehun is not named _after_ the god, but is actually the lord of the winds. Lord Wu Fan releases him to pull out a chair, prompting him to take the seat. He doesn’t know what to do around two of the princes of the sky, so he just stares at his hands in his lap, absentmindedly chewing on his lip. From the corner of his eye, he can see Lord Wu Fan’s rapt attention fixated on him, unsettling him and causing a flush to creep up on his cheeks.

“Stop looking at him like that, it’s scaring him,” snaps Lord Sehun. The other god sputters out denials, claiming it _slander_ against him, to which Sehun rolls his eyes. He faces Yixing who remains quite a pretty shade of pink. “I suppose you have _some_ questions. Feel free to ask them?”

Of course Yixing has plenty of questions. Why choose him? Why spare him? What does this mean for him now? However, there is only one that spills itself from his mouth.

“What of my family?”

This seems to stun the two gods as it does Yixing. Wu Fan fidgets with his hands whilst Sehun darts his eyes away from the prince. Both look reluctant to speak and Yixing immediately regrets the question, an internal panic bubbling in his throat.

“I’m so-sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no you deserve to know,” Lord Wu Fan interrupts. Yixing ignores the bad feeling settling in his stomach as he listens to Lord Wu Fan recount the events of the past few days.

He begins by telling of the king and the crown prince’s return from the oracle, and the trap awaiting for the former in his own rooms later that night. Wu Fan, in his omniscience, had seen the plot his mother had brewing ever since the night that Yixing had offered himself in sacrifice to the god himself, and that in her confinement, she had weaved a great net to lay in the king’s bed in order to ensnare him. On the night, she had hidden a sword underneath his bed and was permitted entry into his room by a rebellious guard, and whilst the king was betwixt his sheets in sleep, he was caught in the net and she had grabbed the sword and ruthlessly plunged it into his chest, all the while crying for Yixing’s dear life.

The king’s strangled howls had drawn the attention of the crown prince who had been rendered aghast at the scene. Luhan could not steady the bleeding, and so the king’s life was taken by his own queen. Now, Luhan was king, and his first act was to exile his mother and return her back to her kingdom on the sea. He hadn’t the heart to punish his own mother who only acted out of the love of her son, but he knew that if he allowed her to stay within the city, there would be rebellion and unrest, which could have led to her own murder.

Tears are running down Yixing’s face; he can taste the salt as it settles onto his chewed lips. Lord Wu Fan’s expression is remorseful, as if he were the one responsible for all that had happened. Yixing cannot help but think it just might be. He plucks up all the courage he has to ask the god one more question.

“May I return?”


	3. Third

When Lord Wu Fan refuses him, his stare is not cold and indifferent, but confused and hurt.

“You can’t – you would be killed if you went back now!” he protests. “What the priests haven’t done, they will do to you. I mean what I said when I did not intend to let a drop of your blood spill.”

“But my father has been killed and my mother is exiled; Luhan has no one,” he argues.

“There is nothing left for you there. Your place is with me now.” He stares intently at Yixing who squirms under the attention.

“You could have _told_ them – this could have all been prevented,” Yixing cries, desperate. Lord Wu Fan dart his eyes away from the prince.

“You will not leave. That is final. And do not think about escaping – the gods are all-seeing and all-knowing. Sehun and I will know if you return to the city,” Lord Wu Fan declares. His voice is heavy and decisive, but that does not stop Yixing from fleeing back to the room he has been given.

His legs topple when he reaches the bed and he sobs into the pillow, crying for Luhan and his mother and his father, his face a wet mess. The tears make his eyelids heavy and his body wracks itself to slumber, drowning his sadness and anger with sleep.

 

 

 

When he arises, there is no sun. Instead, the half-moon greets him high in the sky, a soft and radiant light bathing his room. Yixing rolls over on his stomach and tries to go back to sleep, but a gurgle emits itself from his stomach, a clear signal of his hunger.

He tries to ignore it, pushing aside the grip that hunger has on his belly. He shuts his eyes in a fast attempt to will it away for the morning, when he won’t have to bear the humiliation of his actions from earlier in the day, but his yearning for food wins against his stubbornness.

Yixing sits on the edge of his bed, placing his feet on the cold stone floor. The chill shoots up from his soles to the rest of his body. He sighs – he’s definitely awake now. His feet toe themselves into his sandals and he patters out of the room. Relief sets into his stomach when he sees the corridors lit by the lanterns on the walls – now he’ll just have to remember the route to the dining room.

Lord Wu Fan’s temple is much more frigid at night and Yixing is only dressed in the thin under-robes which can only count as a shift. The open windows and doors grant refuge to the night winds, and the walls serve to surround him with stored coldness; the environment seems to be working in tandem to force him back into the room. At least he encounters neither Lord Wu Fan nor Lord Sehun on his way to the kitchens.

Half of a loaf of bread sits on the table when he enters and he darts his eyes around to see anyone lying in wait for him. He decides not to eat it in the dining room, he doesn’t want to risk seeing Lord Wu Fan, and instead chooses to dash back to his room with it in tow. On his scurry back to his room, he passes Lord Sehun who he gives a low bow to. The god only looks at the piece of bread in his hands and chuckles before leaving him on his way. At least he won’t be chastised for stealing. When he reaches the safety of his room, he finally tears in, satisfied with the temporary fill until the morning comes.

 

 

 

To his surprise, it is Lord Sehun who rouses him, bringing with him a tray of fruits and a hot cup of tea. He nudges the prince with his knuckle and once Yixing comes to, he sets the tray on top of his lap. Yixing blinks away powdery sleep, looking up to see Lord Sehun standing above him.

“Oh- thank you,” Yixing says.

“It’s fine. We wouldn’t want you to go hungry again,” Lord Sehun replies, smirking. Yixing flushes and bites his lip. “When you finish, just leave it outside the door – I’ll collect it when I pass by.”

Yixing nods, giving Lord Sehun his queue to leave. He feels incredibly grateful for Lord Sehun’s thoughtfulness; he is in no mood to face Lord Wu Fan after yesterday. The look of disappointment on Lord Wu Fan’s face had etched itself into his mind and he feels as if it would be the only thing he’d see if he saw the god today. Besides, Yixing had been willing to give himself up to save his people before, and now he was just going to renege on his word and throw everything back in the citizen’s faces? No, that was unfair and selfish. Lord Wu Fan hadn’t even thought of killing him – his life had been spared and he was even treated as a guest in his place of worship. The unfortunate memories of yesterday burn shame into Yixing’s cheeks.

He wants to do something to apologise for his actions, beg for his forgiveness or something of the like, but the thought of facing Lord Wu Fan is hot and stifling, so Yixing resolves to stay in the room to spare him more disgrace.

 

 

 

A while after Yixing hears the quiet clinking of porcelain from outside his door, when he is sure that no one is around, he makes to go to the baths. He needs a change of scenery; there is only the bed and the chair in the room, and although the window shows a pleasant view of the lush forest surrounding the Dragon Mount, it is an unchanging and steadfast picture.

The baths seem to be colder and darker today, the open ceiling showing that the large clouds above have been washed grey. Yixing dips a foot in the water – the temperature is pleasing and he is glad, his last bath was yesterday.

He disrobes and sinks onto the stone ledge in the pool. He wiggles his limbs – the water is soothing and it helps him to calm his nerves, to push the shaming thoughts of yesterday to the back of his mind. Yixing looks up at the sky, finding the clouds sombre and swollen, moving fast with the wind and ever growing in size.

The first raindrop that falls in the room is felt by Yixing, fat and cold and racing down his face. The others are quick to follow, plummeting towards the pool in leagues, beating hard like a drum against the water and his skin. Yixing leaps out of the now brisk bath, towelling off and hastily dressing himself in his robes in quick succession and makes out of the room, winding through the hallways reach the temple entrance.

He halts at the top of the stairs as his eyes meet the scene in front of him. Down in the city below, the one he once called home, it is raining, a deluge of water pouring from the thick clouds and drenching the parched earth, happy to drink its fill after three months of drought. Yixing can’t even see through the wet mist to gauge the citizen’s reactions, the downpour is too heavy. A cry of delight pours from his throat, startling the soaked figure standing by the foot of the steps. Lord Wu Fan. Yixing’s eyes widen and he makes to turn and retreat, but Lord Wu Fan is quicker.

“Wait! Don’t go!” he says, standing soaked at the bottom of the stairs. Lord Wu Fan is looking up at him, eyes wide and imploring. A tongue darts to hesitantly lick at his lips. Yixing finds himself nodding and slowly, he descends down the steps to meet the taller. The rain still strikes against his face and it soaks deep into his clothing, chilling his skin, but that isn’t what he notices when he feels Lord Wu Fan slips his larger fingers in between his. Yixing decides to utter the next words.

“You have made it rain over my city. Thank you Lord Wu Fan,” Yixing mumbles, looking up at the god.

“Please. There are no need for titles,” the other states. He turns his attention towards the city under his Dragon Mount. “It was about time. The people have… suffered enough for the sins of one man.” His grip on the prince’s hand gets tighter. “I had wanted to return the rains when you had finally become my consort, but I seem to have scared you. That’s all I seem to do – apart from annoying you.” Lord Wu Fan gives him a shaky smile, but all Yixing’s focus is set on one word.

“Consort?” His eyebrows furrow in confusion. Lord Wu Fan can’t have been serious – it must have just been a slip of the tongue – but the god looks at him with same hurt in his eyes as he did the day before.

“Yes. After you were deified, you were meant to be my consort. But I suppose it was presumptuous of me to expect you to leave everything at once. You were not born for this.”

Deified? Yixing’s head is spinning. He feels sick and he wants to run, but his feet remain planted to the ground. It’s probably for the best that he can’t move – he has spent all his time here fleeing or hiding. Lord Wu Fan takes the lead by guiding the both of them to sit on the temple steps, under the shade of the great roof and out of the heavy showers. Yixing squirms as he feels the squelch of his wet robes when he settles down, but Lord Wu Fan’s hand is warm, tempering the chills he feels on his skin and in his bones.

“Do you want the full story?” Lord Wu Fan asks. Yixing nods. “You deserve it.”

Lord Wu Fan starts with the beginning, telling him that a prophecy had come to the reclusive god, stating that he would receive a great consort from the realm of the mortals. Initially, he had taken no heed to it, his affairs with the mortals were brief and minimal, but he had consulted Lord Zitao on the matter and was shown the face of the man who would be his consort. He had been drawn to him instantly, and the thought of him had easily settled itself in his mind, but it would take a hundred years before the other was to be born. A century would usually be fleeting for a god, but Wu Fan had tormented himself with waiting for the appearance of the other.

It was only when Lord Baekhyun, the oracle of the mortals, had told him of a newly-wed king and queen who had visited him to seek information on the fates of their royal children. One would be a lover, who had loved greatly and was greatly loved in return. The other was to be a great hero, fated to save his city from a terrible blight, and both would have their stories told centuries down the line. Lord Wu Fan had been convinced that he knew which of the two was to be his great love, but the first had been born and he did not have the face of the man whom Zitao had shown him.

So he waited for the second, born only two years after the first, born in the fruitful autumn, on a clear day in the midst of torrid tempests, portents he had sent to the mortals, clearer than glass. But the boy’s mother had put up a fight and refused to abandon him to the temple priests, and Wu Fan could not deny a mother her son.

“The drought was not part of my plans – your father committed a blasphemous sin and the other gods agreed it could not go unpunished. But now he lies beneath the earth and you are with me and the citizens no longer need to bear the brunt of my wrath,” he finishes. He continues to cradle Yixing’s hand in his; he had not once let go during the time he recounted his story.

“What happens after this? Will I become your consort?” Yixing asks. Lord Wu Fan looks at him, and this time, he looks not like the imposing deity he has read about in lore, but like a child, shy and timid.

“I… will offer you a choice. You can go back to the city and you can return to your brother and your people or – you can stay with me,” Wu Fan says.

Yixing looks at Lord Wu Fan, surprised. He had been so unwilling to let him return, to go home, but now the option is so readily offered on a platter. Yixing looks at the god, searching his eyes, but the answer lies with him and him alone.

If he returned to Luhan, he can go back to normality and continue with the life he left behind, knowing that he lives under the protection of the city’s patron. But he will not always have his brother, he knows that Luhan will have to get married to continue the family’s line and while Yixing would have given up his half of the prophecy, Luhan has his own choice to make, which would still leave him alone.

In the city, his life was already sorted. He would grow up as a prince and work as a healer, committed to serving the people until he breathed his last breath. It was predictable. He doesn’t know what life – _eternity_ – with Lord Wu Fan will be like, but there is beauty in not knowing.

Yixing squeezes Lord Wu Fan’s hand. They both know his answer.

 

 

 

The rains from yesterday have soaked the earth, and every so often, when Yixing takes a step, mud kicks up and stains his light robes. When they arrive at Lord Zitao’s sanctuary – an underground river leading to the sea – his robes are dyed with a mucky trim, hardly appropriate when meeting a god who holds such sway over the fabrics of time.

When they enter the cavern, it is dark despite the little lanterns tucked into the grooves of the cave walls. The only other sources of light are from the ends of the cave and the small crater above the centre of the cavern. Wu Fan and Yixing take care to walk along the bank, not wanting to step in the potent river, but it narrows as they continue further to meet Zitao.

Wu Fan greets him with the familiarity of an old friend and Zitao reciprocates the feeling, but the niceties end there – they all know what they’re here for.

Lord Zitao flicks his wrist and under the light of the sun seeping through, Yixing sees the river turn a disagreeable grey.

“The gods are born from a great deed,” Zitao begins, “and your act of self-sacrifice is deserving of such a reward. Thanks to the surrender of your life to Lord Wu Fan, your people have been spared and they will soon enjoy prosperity.” He gestures for Yixing to follow him into the river, under the spot of the crater. Lord Zitao places his hands on his shoulders and submerges him before uttering the last words he hears as a mortal.

 “You have saved one of the largest kingdoms in the region; you will be lauded as a great hero.”

 

 

 

Yixing is pulled out, sputtering and coughing. The wait had burned his lungs and he had thought he would pass out; Zitao had hauled him back up before he had succumbed to unconsciousness.

“You will be the Deathless as you are the only one of us who has not known life’s dark end,” Zitao says.

“Many thanks Lord Zitao,” Yixing says as he goes to bow low. The other places a hand on his shoulder, stalling his movements.

“We are equals now, there’s no need for such formalities,” Zitao declares. Yixing stumbles out an apology, unused to the etiquette of the divine.

“The Deathless? Quite fitting for a healer,” Lord Wu Fan quips, turning Yixing’s attention towards him. The elder holds out his hand, offering to help him out of the river; Yixing takes it and smiles. “The people will look to you to cure and treat them.”

After the other utters his own thanks for Zitao’s time, he tugs the both of them along the narrow riverbank and up to the entrance by the rocks. Lord Wu Fan holds his hand tight, the mud from before still slippery, and although Yixing is now immortal, the other still takes the same precautions as he did on the journey before. Yixing would protest, but he quite likes the feel of Lord Wu Fan’s much larger hand enfolding around his.

“Won’t you miss your brother? Luhan?” Wu Fan asks, frowning at the ground below them.

“I will – he’s older than me so he’s always been a constant in my life. I don’t ever remember him not being there,” Yixing replies. When he looks over to Wu Fan, the other looks guilty. “But I’ve made my choice – this and the one before. And I will regret not ever seeing him again, but I feel like I would have regretted not making this choice if I had chosen the other path. Decisions can’t be stripped of regrets.”

“It’s just that… you were so vehement when you asked to return. I feel like I’m robbing you of him.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be robbed of him… I’ll be living for eternity now; he won’t ever be taken away from me. Besides, my new job has me looking over the mortals – that involves Luhan.” Yixing smiles cheekily at Wu Fan.

“You know, you can’t pick favourites,” Wu Fan grumbles.

“You picked favourites when it came to me…” Yixing has a coy smile creeping on his face, “Why else would we be in this situation.” Wu Fan’s reaction is to squawk at the accusation and to nudge Yixing in the arm. The gesture surprises Yixing; he had never thought the god to be so _human_ , almost like a teenager, but he remembers Lord Zitao’s words, that the gods are born from great deed, that they are born like everyone, crying and naked in a large, lonely world.

It is no wonder that Lord Wu Fan would look to find a consort, in spite of his earlier claims of disinterest, holding an interest in the prophecy which predicted an end to his solitude. If Yixing can correctly recall his tutors’ lessons, Wu Fan is one of the oldest gods with unknown origins. Yixing could never know what it was like to be so alone – his life as a palace prince garnered attention from his mother and her attendants, and now he has Wu Fan. The latter, however was a recluse, his only other companion being Lord Sehun, only living together out of obligation for their duties to the sky.

“So what do we do now?” Yixing asks, linking their hands together.

“Whatever you want,” Wu Fan says as he looks at Yixing with wide eyes. The younger smirks.

“I think you owe me penance for keeping me in the dark,” he says, laughing as he runs across the field. He grins when he hears Wu Fan shrieking for him to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up later than usual! I've just lost energy to write recently, especially after seeing literally all of old china-line posting that disgusting hashtag on weibo :))))  
> (I'm Filipino haha)


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